Zenith White As Frost
by ShinigamiForever
Summary: An AU fantasy. Slash. Chp 2: Tom Riddle is, among other things, annoyed by broccoli stuck between the teeth.
1. Chart of Major Houses

Zenith White As Frost  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
A/N: Ah hah hah. The usual mumbo-jumbo before a really b-rated fantasy quest. Trust me. It's not going to end up that way. And although all the players seem to have quite heterosexual relationships as of now, things change. Drastically.   
  
  
  
  
  
[A Chart of Major Houses]  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Granger-  
  
Symbol: a dark purple falcon with green markings  
Slogan: Reason Above Emotion  
Desciption: The Grangers are the realm's record keepers. They have the largest library in the land and are also the founders of the Quill and Pen Society, to which most of the prominent poets and scholars belong to. They are informants only to themselves, although they are well liked by all the houses. The Grangers have a history of being advisors. Their only child is a daughter by the name of Hermione, who is engaged to the youngest son of the Weasley family, Ron.  
  
Malfoy-  
  
Symbol: a green snake with a silver tongue  
Slogan: We, the Serpent's Children  
Description: The Malfoys are no doubt second in command to the Riddle house. The house has close connections with Veelas, even blood ties to them. They are quite aloof from most of the other houses except for the Parkinson house and the Potter house. The lady of the house is known to host grand balls, and lord of the house is a confidante of the lord of the Riddle house. Their only child is a son by the name of Draco, who is engaged to the only daughter of the Parkinson house, Pansy.  
  
Parkinson-  
  
Symbol: an orange sun and a blue moon paired together  
Slogan: Victory in the End  
Description: The Parkinson house have been friends with the Malfoy house for ages, although certain tensions, especially with the Malfoys' new rise for power, have cause their relationship to be strained. The Parkinsons are known to be power hungry and have been questionable followers of the Riddle reign. However, their fidelty is not often questioned due to the amount of power they wield. Their only child is a daughter by the name of Pansy, who is engaged to the heir of the Malfoy house, Draco.  
  
Potter-  
  
Symbol: A red phoniex with alternating gold and crimson feathers  
Slogan: Ours Is The Truth  
Description: The Potters are well respected by all houses, even the Riddle house. They are good friends with the Malfoy house, the Granger house, and the Weasley house. The Potters have been in control of the realm's army for ages, as both generals and soldiers. The most singular factor of this house is the fact that both their men and women are known for their feats. Their only child is a son by the name of Harry, who is engaged to the youngest child and daugther of the Weasley house, Ginny.  
  
Riddle-  
  
Symbol: a sword with an emerald encrusted hilt  
Slogan: Hands Tied With Power  
Description: Often called the Voldemort house due to the amount of sons named Voldemort, the Riddles have been the rulers of the realm for quite some time. They are usually fair in their judgement, often consulting the opinions of others. Under the rule of the Riddle house, the commoners have been increasingly happier. However, crossing the trust of the Riddle house is not recommended, as the number of dead traitors and conspirators has risen under the Riddle rule. The current king is Lord Voldemort the Sixth. Their next heir is their oldest and only son, Tom.  
  
Weasley-  
  
Symbol: a golden lion against a blue background  
Slogan: As High As Honor  
Description: The Weasley house is one of the oldest, second to the Malfoy house, which is one of the reasons they are deadly enemies, even if they do not openly back stab each other. The Weasleys are friendly, even if they do tend to hold a particularly long grudge. Many of their sons that are not chosen for heirs become athletes. The amazing thing about the Weasley house is the tendency for double rule, or when the inheritance of the house is shared by two people. This is the case now, as their current heirs are the twins Fred and George. Their oldest sons, Charlie, Bill, and Percy, have refused the inheritance. Their youngest son by the name of Ron is engaged to the only child of the Granger house, Hermione. Their youngest and only daughter by the name of Ginny is engaged to the heir of the Potter house, Harry.  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Part one is also up, check that out! 


	2. 1: The Difference Between Snow and Fire

Zenith White As Frost  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
Warnings: AU. Lots of it. Slash. Lots of it. Oddity. Lots of that too.  
  
Disclaimer: Ah, what I would do if I owned Harry Potter. What I would do to own Harry Potter. *wink*  
  
A/N: This starts the strange story born of my love of "A Game of Thrones", by George R. R. Martin. I stopped reading the series after the first book because it got into dragons. I hate dragons in fantasy sagas. They spoil everything. This is basically my answer to all the fantasy sagas out there, except it has a lot of background political intrigue. And slash. So here goes.  
  
  
  
Part the First: The Difference Between Snow and Fire  
  
  
  
He had never seen a boy as beautiful as Draco Malfoy. He had never seen a girl as beautiful as Draco Malfoy. He gave himself at least ten lifetimes to find another human being as beautiful as Draco Malfoy. It was inhuman. It was impossible. It was ethereal. He was beautiful.   
  
Skin as pale as moonlight on ivory. Hair silver blond like mother-of-pearl. Hair down to the top of the shoulders, curving a little, and flipping into gray eyes. Eyes like molten platinum. A body slim and willowy like a girl. Gently tapered fingers that tapped restlessly against dark wood. Black robes with a high collar and long sleeves to contradict against white skin. A forest green vest with silver embroidery. A silk white shirt underneath that. Beautiful in a way Harry had never seen before.  
  
Like frost patterns on windows.  
  
The Malfoy house, with the cold ice sculpture Lucius at the head and his equally glacial lady Narcissa, the lady half Veela blood. Making Draco one-fourth Veela blood too, and further adding to his charm. Harry shook his head inwardly, marveling at the entire family.  
  
Lucius looked like his son; or rather, Draco looked like his father. The same sea gray eyes and hair that was white silver, long, but not feminine long. His face was more angled, sharp cheekbones and long frame, but he no doubt was as beautiful as Draco when he was younger. Harry could feel the raw power and magic peeling off Lucius in icy blue waves. Nothing like his wife.  
  
Narcissa was gentler, with long golden blonde hair trailing to her waist. The sides were held up with silver and jade clips. Her eyes were a light blue that Harry had only seen in the eyes of blind prophets. But Narcissa Malfoy was not blind. Her eyes flashed in the direction she looked, regal and tall. Her lips were frosty pink, and her skin was as fair as her husband's. She held herself at a height, making herself seem taller than she actually was.   
  
Such a contrast from my family, Harry thought.  
  
His father was a rather disarmingly cheerful man with untamed black hair and eyes the color of the deep ocean, a bluer color than Lucius' grayish ones and more aquamarine than Narcissa's sky blue. His mouth was constantly fixed in a grin, pulling a laugh out of everyone with his casual nature. It was not unpredictable that Harry adored his father. James Potter was the paradigm of everything Harry wanted to be: polite, happy, content, proud, but not arrogant. A gentleman. A lord.  
  
Fitting that Lily Potter was his wife. She had auburn hair, a darker red than actual red, tinged with reddish brown and light strawberry blonde streaks. Her cheeks were rosy with health, her mouth pursed in a girlish smile. She had long eyelashes that fluttered over bottomless green eyes, rich green the color of emeralds and summer grass. Harry had eyes like his mother. Even the long eyelashes.   
  
Draco had light blond eyelashes, like his father. Sweeping long eyelashes. Because his mother had short eyelashes. Harry just now realized that.  
  
"It is so good of you all to stop by," Narcissa said in a breathless type of voice, tinkling a bit like glass. When she smiled, Harry thought, she was pretty. In a different way from his mother, but still pretty.  
  
"It is the least we could do, for old friends," Lily answered, gliding forward to take Narcissa in a sisterly hug. The husbands stood by awkwardly. Harry was amazed at the thought. Awkwardly. They looked uncomfortable. Lucius made a movement as if to shake hands, then pulled back. His own father looked slightly suffocated.   
  
He had never seen his father so unsettled.  
  
"Is this your son, Harry? I haven't seen him since you moved away fourteen years ago," Narcissa continued, sweeping over to Harry and peering at him, a little smile on her lips. "He is sixteen? Like Draco? He was two when you moved." The mentioned son turned his head away from the painting he was looking at, eyes landing on Harry instead. He felt pinned and squirmed a little, bowing before Narcissa.  
  
"My lady," Harry murmured, feeling even more acutely uncomfortable than his father.  
  
"And so polite!" Narcissa exclaimed happily.  
  
"Yes, and if we would be just as polite, my lady," Lucius said laughingly, "we would invite the Potters in for tea?" Harry looked up at the lord of the Malfoy house who was currently moving away into the tea room. His father followed, beckoning Harry to follow. Narcissa and his mother were chatting away happily. Draco was up in front with his father. For a mad moment, Harry thought about just standing stock still in the hall, but gave in to the urge to follow.  
  
***  
  
He had dreamed, of course, of someone this beautiful. It was only a dream; he never expected it to leap out at him in all human fury. Green eyes the color of stained glass and sunlight. Skin smooth and caramel. Hair as wild as a storm, but tossed gently in midnight black. Well built, lightweight, graceful, and most endearingly out of place.   
  
If he had known Harry Potter was that beautiful, he would have had the Potter heir locked up in his room and tied to the bedpost.  
  
But enough of that, Draco thought as he watched Harry unsteadily lead a teacup to his lips. His own fingers played with the edges of his cup, dipping in the mint tea and back out again. The parents were in a convivial conversation, Draco was bored, and Harry looked claustrophobic. Interesting.  
  
It was time for Draco Malfoy to come to the rescue.  
  
"Father," he said quietly, but loud enough to intrude on the flow of the adults.  
  
"Yes, Draco?"  
  
"Would you mind terribly if I stole away with Harry?" His eyes twinkled mischievously, causing his father to laugh.  
  
"I have no objections. Lily? James? Any objections? I don't believe Draco and Harry will cause too much chaos."  
  
"Not at all," answered the raven-haired man, taking a sip of his tea. "It's about time they become friends anyway." He wasn't meeting Lucius' eyes. No, their fathers hadn't looked at each other's faces the entire time, Draco realized. He stored the fact away for later use.   
  
Harry looked quite stunned, the teacup halfway from his mouth to the table. "But I..." and trailed off in mid-protest. Draco hopped of his perch on the armchair, catching Harry's wrist and dragging him off.   
  
"Now Harry, you really don't want to be cooped up in this room full of adults, do you?" He tossed a grin over at his captured acquaintance who continued to sputter as he allowed himself to be pulled.  
  
"No, but really I-"  
  
"Well then, come on!"  
  
The two began their journey upstairs, one following the other.  
  
***  
  
They entered Draco's bedroom unceremoniously, Draco still pulling Harry and banging into the door. They were both slightly breathless and laughing in between heavy gasps. Harry felt Draco's hand slowly leave his wrist and looked up to find sky gray eyes watching him.  
  
"We're here."  
  
Harry looked around, just now noticing the room. The walls were an offshade of green, light and crisp. The furniture was all beech wood inlaid with gold designs, the curtains dark green silk, and the bed a giant four post masterpiece. There was a wall of books, a table, chairs, and even a fireplace. Tastily furnished with little trinkets of silver, Harry was quite in awe of the taste displayed. "It's beautiful," he breathed.  
  
"Thank you," Draco replied, offering him a seat and sitting down in the one opposite him. There was a pitcher of lemonade. "Care for a drink?"  
  
"I-I'd love some." A carefree light laugh spilled from Draco's lips as he began pouring.  
  
"Did you like the tea downstairs?"  
  
"Actually, I've never had anything like it. Was it mint?"  
  
"Mm. Yes. Mint, wintergreen, spearmint, a touch of lemon and ginger," Draco answered, eyes twinkling. "My mother is a tea fanatic."  
  
"I take it you don't like tea as well as she does?" Harry asked, taking a sip of his lemonade. It was iced and cool, sliding wonderfully down his throat, sweet and sour all in one gulp.  
  
"Oh, I adore tea," Draco said drolly, also taking a sip from his glass. "It's so... refreshing," he went on, waving his hand for emphasis. Harry laughed. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he said, tilting his head curiously.  
  
"No," Harry said in agreement. "I don't believe so."  
  
"Draco Malfoy," the blond young man said, sticking out a hand. Harry took it, feeling the coolness and slight dampness from the condensation. Icy and elegant, like the owner. He was slightly hesitant to let go.  
  
"I'm-"  
  
"Harry Potter, I know," Draco cut in. "You beat Tom Riddle in that one sword match last week."  
  
"Oh gods," Harry replied, embarrassed and taking a sip of lemonade to hide it. "I didn't know news traveled that quickly."  
  
"Believe me, Harry," Draco said, shaking his head. "Any news about the Riddle house travels quickly. Especially when they are the ones defeated."  
  
"It was only a friendly match," Harry protested.  
  
"But you still beat him!" He couldn't tell whether it was awe or amusement that was in Draco's voice. Maybe a little bit of both. "You practically grew up with him, didn't you?"  
  
"I suppose I did. We moved to the Riddle territory when I was two, so yes, I've been with Tom Riddle since I was very young. We're almost like brothers."  
  
"You are very lucky, Harry Potter." He shrugged, trying to avoid eye contact with Draco. This conversation was making him uncomfortable. Any conversation talking about himself made him nervous.  
  
"I suppose I am."  
  
There was a long pause before Draco suddenly asked, "What is your favorite color?"  
  
"Color?" Harry asked, flustered. "Well, I like red and gold; that's obvious, because those are our insignia colors. I do like blue, and green is pretty, and I suppose purple is a very regal color. I can't say. I like all colors," he ended in a laugh.  
  
"You are not a very opinionated person, are you, Harry?" Draco said in a thoughtful voice, making the question sound softer.  
  
"Not as opinionated as I should be. What about you, Draco? Are you opinionated?"  
  
"Very much so," he answered wryly, drinking from his glass. "My mother says I am as stubborn to the point of blindness."  
  
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, confused.  
  
"It means," Draco said, smiling, "that I am so stubborn that I refuse to see things any other way."  
  
"Ah," Harry murmured. "I see."  
  
They sat in companionable silence for a while before Draco spoke up again, not looking at Harry as he spoke. "We are going to be good friends, are we not, Harry Potter?"  
  
He was stunned for a moment, not sure how to answer, but he had to answer somehow. "Of course we will," he assured Draco, smiling.  
  
Looking at Draco's averted face, he felt a flash of understanding. But for the life of him, he could not understand what he had come to understand. And when he was close to grasping the concept, it had already slipped away.  
  
They whiled away the rest of the day in lazy happiness. Before the sun had descended, they had become inseparable.  
  
  
  
  
  
[-end part the first-]  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: So? Whaddya think? Strange? Horrible? Stupid? Inanely ridiculous? Not too bad? Readable? Drop me a line and tell me what you thought of it! 


	3. 2: Nostalgia Is Irritating

Zenith White As Frost  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
Warnings: AU. Slash. Oddity. Go us odd people.  
  
Disclaimer: Yes, I am JK Rowling! All bow to my superior disillusionment!  
  
A/N: So Pansy was going to be before Tom, but I guess I wanted to explain Tom Riddle first and how he fits into this story. Perfect-Dark01 nearly bit off my head when I told her what I had in store for him. What color are his eyes, really? I made them violet.  
  
  
  
Part the Second: Nostalgia Is Irritating  
  
  
  
He hated- he could not stress this enough- he hated formal dinners. Hated them like he hated giggling girls and that piece of broccoli that was always got stuck in between your front teeth. But that was besides the point. The point was- and Tom Riddle was good at making points- he hated flatterers. Butt kissers. Politicians. Whatever. He hated them.  
  
That would partially explain why he was gritting his teeth as he ate. It wasn't because the food was badly cooked or anything. On the contrary, the food was very good. Better than usual because of the company they had over. As if they didn't have company every day. But special company this time. Delegates from other realms.  
  
Which meant a formal dinner. Which meant fancy clothes. Which meant manners. Which meant having to play the perfect little host. Which meant girls. And that was exactly what he hated the most about them. The girls. That was the other part of why he was gritting his teeth as he ate.  
  
Girls who tried too hard to be pretty. Coquettish girls who wore dresses so big that they resembled balls of lace and satin. Flirty girls who powdered themselves so white Tom always felt like they looked sick. Drab and bland girls who giggled every five seconds and sipped their tea and gossiped, expecting him to be oh so flattered to be in their company.  
  
Well, the truth was, he despised them. They could all stay in their own manors and rot there with their tea and curled pinkies. What he really liked was a girl who could run and wore boyish robes. A girl who could rampage across the manor with him and terrorize the house elves. A girl who talked about interesting things, like poetry and archery and philosophy. Things like that. But of course, a girl like that would be a freak of a nature. The only girl he knew that was remotely like that was Hermione Granger, who was bookish, but at least interesting, and she never- heaven forbid- wore big poofy dresses.  
  
At least, being the heir of the throne, his family hadn't chosen him a fiancee. Yet, anyway. Woe be to the girl that ever got married to him, he thought dryly.  
  
Finally sick of the diplomatic politeness, he excused himself abruptly from the table, causing his father, Lord Voldemort VI, to give him a disapproving look and his mother, Isabella, to chat nervously with the stricken girls.  
  
"He's just in an irritable mood, that dear Tommy," came the cooing voice of his mother.  
  
He _hated_ being called Tommy.  
  
"Yes, it's just an off day for Thomas," his father chimed in, causing all the diplomats to hurriedly say, "Why yes, of course, we understand perfectly." Yes, let us kiss your butt and gloss over all the mistakes, all the while holding a handful of swords behind our back to stab you when the time comes around.   
  
See Father, your son would be a wonderful king. He'll probably murder all the diplomats first, but the world will definitely be better off for it.   
  
And he hated being called Thomas too.  
  
How he wished Harry was still here. Harry was a lot more composed than he was and a lot more even tempered than he was. He was also a perceptive boy, that Harry. He always knew exactly when Tom was losing it and would always do something to turn the topic away from the Riddle heir. Harry was all smooth and polite and right, he always knew what to do. Harry would have made the perfect king.   
  
Tom, on the other hand, was more competitive than Harry. More aggressive, with bluntness and a lack of tact. He often thought he and Harry were switched at birth. Harry would have been the perfect king; Tom would have been the perfect general.  
  
Alas, it was not meant to be, Tom thought to himself, affecting a melodramatic flourish. Perhaps it would work out in the end. He walked into his room, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Perhaps it would work out. Because wasn't that the way stories went? Everything always went well in the end. And Tom had just the right amount of faith in fairy tales. Just because he almost lived in one. Castle (manor, to be exact), servants (house elves?), prestige, a realm that would be his, and-  
  
Oh, that's right, no princess. Well, here was his problem. There were no queers in fairy tales.   
  
Flopping himself on his bed and flipping the hair out of his eyes, he lay with one hand over his forehead and the other across his chest. The glass wind chimes above his bed reflected violet eyes and dark shiny black hair, all contrasts of feminine beauty and young gawkiness. He looked like his body was too long for himself. Like he was growing into himself.  
  
It was a strange look.  
  
Stop it, he thought, turning his head. His eyes landed on a picture of Harry, smiling and posing self-consciously for the camera.  
  
Harry.  
  
When a house elf came in two hours later, unaware that its young master was inside, Tom threw his book at it. The book landed with a satisfying 'thunk' against the elf's head, causing it to squeak and run away quickly.   
  
He was in a bad mood the rest of the day.  
  
  
  
A/N: Ah yes, the relationship between Tom and Harry. As my friend once said, he hates, he hates, he hates, but he likes Harry. 


End file.
